


Into the Shadows

by cryptidsarereal



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Assassin Keith (Voltron), Assassination Attempt(s), BAMF Keith (Voltron), Blood and Violence, College Student Lance (Voltron), F/M, Gangs, M/M, Past Torture, Syndicate stuff probs, prolly innocent Lance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-06 07:24:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12812559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptidsarereal/pseuds/cryptidsarereal
Summary: Zarkon is back and Keith is determined to make him pay for a long, bloody bill.Only this time he’s resurfaced with a money on a name in the death pool, and Keith has no choice but to stop the assassination of the million dollar priced bounty:Lance McLain.





	1. there never was a prelude

 

 

Keith doesn't know why he did it either. He was not one for weird sentiments, his job made it easy to get rid of concepts like justice and heroism. Getting into the hitman business at an early age doesn’t really make a guy people-person.

‘Yet here I am’, Keith chided himself. Shiro would be proud, he had been constantly beating himself over the fact that his little brother became a professional killer. Something a long the lines of ‘…what would Mom and Dad say?’, or at least that was the point he was not-so-subtly trying to make as he kept making coughing noises and jabbing Keith on his side all throughout that Disney movie. Keith let him.

He frowned at his side mirror, watching two figures make their way down the moon lit street, suddenly struck by a sense of de ja vu. From where his car was parked at the end of the street, he could make out two boys pushing each other playfully as they passed under the light of the street lamp.

A feeling of dread crept deep in his stomach.

Tap, tap, tap.

The soft sounds slowly registered to his ears, realising that he had been nervously tapping the leathered wheel. He glanced at the perimeter again for what might have been the hundredth time, and like the previous times, the late night presented him the same deserted street. The summer nights had been chilly for a week now, but it had been clear of fog. Which would make anyone deciding for an evening walk under the full moon practically a glowing target for any hitman.

Keith sighed, running his fingers through his hair he didn’t bother tying up tonight. He doesn’t understand where his agitation was coming from.

_It was a night just like this_ , Keith thinks. He thought ten years would wash away the pain of those memories, the fear, he thought years of killing and assassination could wash that. Just one mention of that name, the man who made Keith who he was today, just one measly tip of his name and Keith was the same nine-year-old boy again, scrambling for whatever scrappy information he could get.

_Zarkon._ He’s resurfaced, and has put a name on a large bounty. He had been on a territory stakeout when the pool had opened, half a day too late into taking the job for himself and finally, finally get some clue on Zarkon’s whereabouts. As if it couldn’t be any worse, he’s been beaten to it by Sendak. Keith wrinkled his nose in disgust, Sendak was a ruthless and gruesome killer, he didn’t care that the targets he eliminated used to be _living_.

And now, currently walking down the street completely unaware, was the million dollar bounty: Lance McLain.

Or at least, one of them was Lance McClain.

They were close enough now that Keith could make out two identical laughter. The taller one, a lanky teenager that could roughly be the same age as Keith’s, was making exaggerated gestures with his hands at the shorter boy who looked slightly like a smaller version of the first one, laughing even harder at the other’s antics.

_Brothers_ , Keith realised.

Keith released his breath sharply, goosebumps riding down both his arms. He peeled his eyes unto the shadows of the street, watching anything that would so much as shift.

He knew exactly what was about to happen.

As if the thought acted as a catalyst, Keith’s ears picked out a sudden whizzing noise and sharp sound of wood cracking. Any assassin would recognise that sound. Keith hurriedly started the engine, cursing loudly as he fumbled with the key in the ignition.

There were surprised yelps from the two boys, and Keith glanced back again at his mirror. They stood frozen, confused, staring at the hole on the tree they were passing by. Keith emphatically threw a thought, ‘ _Move away! Duck down!_ ’, willing them to get to safety.

The second shot cut through the air as Keith gunned down the street in reverse. Then a third, and a fourth. He gritted his teeth, calculating the angle from where the shots came from and halted, wheels screeching, in front of the two boys, effectively putting his car between Sendak’s line of sight and his target.

He threw the door open and rushed towards the brothers, stopping short at the sight. It was like a strange crossover from his memories, overlapping with the scene in front of him. The tall, lanky boy had his brother cradled in his arms, tears streaking his face and looking at Keith with mixed fear, confusion and desperation.

Keith gulped painfully, feeling like he had fulfilled an dreadful premonition. He firmly fixed his sight away from the crying boy, focusing on the fallen one instead.

Everything moved around him in a strange haze, the way it does in a dream. The situation too close to reliving stored memories, only this time in the point of view of a third person.

It was bad. Blood seeped through the bullet wounds. One hit his backside, another tearing through his right leg, and a graze on his stomach. Keith pursed his lips, he was pretty sure Sendak didn’t just miss a target. Only his arrival had prevented the final blow.

He squinted back at the tall buildings shrouding the street in shadows. Unsurprisingly, no bullets followed. Assassins always regroup when the job is compromised.

“What— Who are you?! What do you want?!”, the brother was demanding, his voice wobbling on the edge of panic.

Keith put a steady hand on his shoulder, gripping harder when he flinched away. “We have to go, we have to get away from here.” Sendak would draw back for now, no doubt assessing the turn of events. But the night’s not over yet, and so is his job.

Some steadiness must have creeped from his voice, because the boy was nodding pushing himself up and shifting his brother’s body in a tighter hold, deciding that Keith wasn’t a threat.

“No”, Keith said abruptly and the boy froze, his eyes wide on Keith. He hated having to say it but he had to, “we can’t bring him.”

Confusion splattered on the boys face, voice a dim murmur, “What— But we have to— he’s hurt”—

“No”, Keith said firmly. “We can’t move him, it’ll kill him.” The boy paled and immediately stopped moving, then slowly set his brother back down. “We have to go, he’s gone but he’ll come back to finish the job.”

“He— who?”, his voice barely a whisper now. He looked back down, peering at his brother, shaking his head slightly then with more conviction. “NO. No, we can’t”—

“Come on, we have to go.” Keith reached out to take his arm but the boy slapped it away.

“No. Please”, tears started welling up again in his eyes. It made the color of his eyes shine under the moonlight. 

Startling blue.

“Please, please, don’t make me leave him please.”

Keith watched helplessly as his face scrunched in pain and hunched, curled over his brother’s head, whispering, “No, no, no, _no._ I can’t, _I can’t._ ”

He made a split-second decision. He pulled his phone out, putting Shiro on speed dial.

“Hey, Kei-“

“Shiro, I need an ambulance.”

“What- Why? What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s for someone else.” He gave Shiro the street address.

“How bad?”

“Bullet-wounds. Stomach, leg. It’s pretty bad.” He glanced back and saw the elder brother pressing a handkerchief on a bloody wound. “Listen, I need this under wraps. I can’t have the police poking.”

It was silent on the other end for a minute. “I’ll see what I can do. ETA three minutes. You owe me an explanation.”

Keith sighed. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Hanging up, he crouched back down to see how the younger brother was doing. He pulled out his knife and cut a long piece of cloth from his hoodie, tying it above the wound on the young boy’s leg. He can feel the other boy’s eyes on him.

It was silent for a long while, everything eerily still after the night’s sudden events. Only the ragged breathing of the shot boy passed sounds in the air.

He shot a contemplating look at the older brother, who’s eyes were wide and red-rimmed, pupils blown up twice their size. He’s in shock, that part was obvious. He seemed innocent enough. It doesn’t feel like he’s got a clue of what’s going on at all, Keith studies the younger boy again and wonders not for the first time tonight why Zarkon would be after some lanky teenage boy.

Soon, the sound of ambulance started wailing in the distance and he finally was able to coax the boy away from his brother. He whispered words a few reassuring words to his brother’s ears, smoothing the blood off his face, then followed Keith into his car. Reluctantly at first, but then resignedly settling himself in the front seat, convinced that Keith was there to help.

The ambulance arrived just as they were pulling out of the corner into another street. The boy looking behind, refusing to let his brother out of his sight.

He’s probably hating himself right now. Keith would know.

He took a huge breath to calm his nerves. Now that the grim part of the night was over, he found himself at a loss of what to do next. Or what to do with the boy he brought with him. He usually did the job and go. He never stayed for the aftermath. And he certainly didn’t care for their relatives.

That part of him that took over in assassinations inwardly shrugged, he could question him later. Plus, the kid might talk. He didn’t want anything that could possibly alarm Zarkon and lead him into hiding again.

Not now, after ten years.

He glanced sideways, and saw the other boy now staring blankly at the dashboard. He was so still, blood streaked all over his face and down his front, you’d think he was the one who’d just gotten shot.

Keith felt the need to say something, try to distil the bleak atmosphere. Also something he didn’t do. “He’ll be fine. My brother works at the hospital, he’ll make sure Lance would be safe.”

Something registered in the boy’s eyes at the mention of his brother’s name, and he numbly wheezed out, “Huh?”

“Lance would be in safe care, the bad men can’t reach him there.” Keith winced at his term, _bad men_. He’s talking to a teenager, not a toddler.

The boy was staring at him with deadened expression, a bloody hand gripping the handle on the door.

“But _I’m Lance_.”


	2. there never was help

 

 

When Lance saw himself stepping into a stranger’s apartment tonight, he imagined it was for an entirely different reason. It was going to be fun and hot. Sex was also going to happen.

He certainly didn’t imagine the later part of the night beginning with his brother getting shot. 

Lance stared blankly at the water running through his fingers, easily washing away his brother’s blood, Carlos’ blood, like it was nothing. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like the easy way it just flowed out of his body, as if it didn’t hold Carlos’ very life in them.

Like how easily he made the decision of leaving him bleeding out on a sidewalk.

Lance stopped short, realising that he had been rubbing his hands raw. They were pink and ice cold, and he didn’t think the warm water from the faucet could help make it better. They were shaking, a reflection of Lance’s guilt for abandoning Carlos that he had been trying and failing to justify.

 

The stranger who had helped him had confused him for his brother. Meaning there was someone out there who had a gun to his face, and had mistakenly shot his little brother.

Somehow, he’d gotten his brother half-dying in a hospital somewhere.

This was all his fault. If only he didn’t push Carlos to go to the party tonight. If only…

What?

If he’d come alone, he would be bleeding on the streets, unable to call for any help.

Lance felt sick. His head pounded. He knew if there was a choice for either of them, he would have chosen to get shot instead. But— the reality of death crushed him. He felt the guilt coiling around his neck, making it hard to breathe.

Just to propel himself into movement, Lance drew water and splashed it on his face. He knows full well that there’s always gonna be blood on his skin that no amount of scrubbing can ever remove. He gripped the sink hard on its edges, drawing up to look at his reflection for the first time that night.

What he saw was someone completely different. 

He felt old, weary. That kind of tiredness that follows agitation and lethargy. Lance is having  a hard time figuring where it started, where he crossed the point from feeling numb to just feeling tired.

In fact, Lance was having a hard time figuring out where the fuck this whole thing started. What made it go from a crazy freshmen welcoming after after party to a shooting incident, to a guilt-tripping decision, to ultimately following a stranger to his house. Everything doesn’t make sense, no matter how hard he tried to. He’s missing an episode in his life, fast forwarded to a shocking development, then frantically replaying previous episodes. Only there’s no continuity to the story at all.

He pulled the towel the stranger had handed him off the ring and buried his face in it. It smelled strange, unfamiliar. Like the clothes he has on clings around his body in an unfamiliar way.  He thought vaguely how the stranger could possibly find this comfortable.

Lance counted a couple more seconds to make sure he’s not about to keel over. Then he pushed himself off the sink, hovering over the door.

It didn’t occur to him until now that this stranger might be the bad guy after all. That, if he opened this door right now, he’d be greeted by a bullet through his head. It would totally suck for his family to have one member dying in the hospital, and the other one a dead body lying somewhere they would never find. Or would even know.

Lance gulped, twisting the doorknob open. Desperation made it so much easier to trust complete strangers.

The first thing he noticed was talking. He followed the noise to the room, taking in his new surroundings. There was only one standing lamp open and it bathed the whole room in dim orange light. It was a simple studio type unit, fairly empty except for some furniture, as if they’d been put there as an afterthought.

The silhouette of the stranger melted into the shadows, backlit by the city lights below the high-rise. Lance’s gaze was held frozen by the view for a long moment, amazed by how this person could belong so much in the darkness.

“… I’ll give you your freaking geek toy, Pidge, just get me a 24/7 security surveillance on him.” The stranger turned around and noticed Lance, his shoulders immediately tensing. He mumbled a clipped reply to his phone then clicked it off.

His gaze was intense and unreadable. His eyes were black pits, as black as the messy flop of hair on his shoulder. There was a rugged, dark feel to him that even a careless whimsical wouldn’t miss. You don’t mess with this guy.

Lance shifted from foot to foot, feeling unusually small and unwelcome under another guy’s stare.“Sit down.” The stranger said after a while, and Lance felt like he was deliberately making him feel uncomfortable. His voice was rusty, like he’d just woken up from a long nap, but also softer than he expected it to be. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Um.” He really did feel like he was about to pass out, but it didn’t feel smart to just blindly follow. “Thanks, but I can—.”

“Sit down. It’s more for your benefit than mine, trust me.”

Lance hesitantly dropped down on the only couch in the room, placed beside the bookshelf. It was soft and cushy, and it did feel a little better to be off his shaky feet.

“Was that… how is…” He didn’t know how to go on, didn’t know the right questions to ask.

“Your brother is on going operation. He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’ll live.” His eyes flicked at Lance’s face and added, “I’m sure, he seems like a tough guy."

“He is,” Lance nodded and exhaled into his hands, rubbing his face tiredly with them. He wanted to ask more, but knew better than to push.

A moment later there was a scratching sound through the floor, and his entire body flinched at the sound. The stranger had walked over to the two-person dining set and dragged a chair in front of Lance. He must’ve noticed his sudden alarm, because he carried the stool the rest of the way and set it carefully.

He sat slowly on the chair, looking to the world like sitting down on a casual conversation. But Lance knows better. He gulped, unable to look at the stranger in the eyes. Scared of what he might see in there. Malice, cold murder…

“Lance,” he flinched at the mention of his name. “I— This might not be very convincing, but I’m not here to hurt you.”

Lance pursed his lips ruefully, “You’re right, it’s not very convincing.”

“I won’t do anything to you. Just— tell me, why is Zarkon after you?”

The pounding in his head was back. “Who’s Zarkon?”

The stranger drew back with a frown. He studied Lance once more, as he had been doing the whole time they were together. He looked… disappointed.

“I…” Lance gulped. “I can’t go home now, can’t I?”

“… No, sorry.”

“But. What am I doing here?”

The stranger sighed. “We’ll see about that in the morning. You should probably sleep.”

“I—,” Lance wanted to argue but his head was really hurting and he’d be able to think if he could just get a little rest. Just a little. Then he can go see his brother, and talk to the police, and everything would be fine. “I’ll take a nap.”

His eyes were already drooping, when he heard the almost exasperated scoff.

“Use the bed. I’ll stay up for a little while.”

Lance blinked back the sleep to watch the stranger walk over by his side to pick a book from the shelf.

“No thanks,” he mumbled tiredly. “I think I’ll just sleep here.”

He desperately tried to fight off the exhaustion, but the comforting blankness of unconsciousness was already pulling him down.

The last thing he remembered was the silhouette of this stranger flipping lazily through a book, the orange haze of the city below making his features dimmer.

He was slowly starting to relax into the couch, suddenly the dark didn’t seem so scary, the pounding in his head had dulled.

“I hadn’t thanked you yet…”

His words dripped lousily through his lips. Somehow, it felt like an important thing to say.

“Keith.

Lance closed his eyes. “Thank you, Keith.”

And everything winked out.

 

 

 

Lance slept fitfully, in between thoughts and memories.

 _“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”_ He kept saying in his sleep.

Everything passed behind his eyes in a swirl of images and emotions. Fear, the strongest. And when he woke up, it had felt like he hadn’t slept at all. One moment, he was in sitting on the cold asphalt. And then the next he was blinking up at a dark ceiling.

He looked around confused, he was in a dim room. The only light came from a streak through the curtains.

Then the memory of the night before came crashing down, and he wished he hadn’t woken up at all. He was still in the stranger’s apartment, it was true. It was all true.

With a groan, he forced himself to sit up, the headache from last night was back and at full force. He massaged his temples weakly, trying to get the memories right.

He went to a party with his brother. He’s brother had been shot. A stranger came to help them. He’d gone with the stranger.

‘Keith’, he remembered.

He struggled out of bed. There seemed to be no sign of Keith anywhere. Good.

It was a perfect time get his bearings.

The studio unit was still as empty as he could remember last. It hurt his eyes when he threw the curtains open, but now that it was sunlit he realised how spacious it was. The furniture, no matter how little they are, looked expensive too. And they were in a pretty nice building with a good view. It looked pricey.

There wasn’t much color in here, everything was either black or white.

He approached the dining table, and found a brown paper bag with a note on it that said “Eat”. In plain block letters.

Lance stopped to stare at it with a feeling of anxiousness. He didn’t like the feeling of having to be in someone else’s mercies after last night, but… Keith didn’t seem to be a bad guy.

He woke up unharmed after all.

His eyes widened in realisation that he woke up in the bed. He knew he slept on the couch the night before. Did Keith…

He shook himself and padded over to the huge refrigerator. He’d decide what to think about Keith once they’ve talked.

The refrigerator had absolutely nothing exciting inside. It seemed to be just a storage for bottled water and a huge amount of jelly drink pouches. There was also no severed human body parts, so Lance just took great solace from that.

He pulled one water bottle out and sat down to eat, finding nothing else to do. He mulled over what to do now that he’s as well rested as he could get. Not enough to remove the queasy feeling in his stomach, but the soup was creamy and easy to swallow.

It struck him as odd that Keith was leaving him alone in his own house, he said he wanted to talk but…

Lance stopped eating. He dropped the spoon on the table and rushed across the room to the front door.

It can’t be— Was he really—

The door was locked from the outside.

He tried it again, and again feeling frustrated and embarrassed to have been so gullible. Of course, he shouldn’t have trusted a stranger right after his brother had been shot. Of course!

Lance was the target, after all! Keith hadn’t meant to help, after all!

He banged on the door several times, hoping that someone outside could hear him, hoping to clear away the panic rising in his throat.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid…_

No one could hear him. Wait—

Lance rushed over to the bathroom where he had discarded his clothes. He’d wanted so badly to get rid of the blood on himself, that he forgotten to retrieve his phone and his wallet from his pockets.

But the bathroom was empty, too. His clothes were nowhere to be found.

He willingly set himself in a trap.

He pulled at his hair, and slumped on the floor.

_How could he have been so stupid?_


	3. there never was much he could do

 

Keith stared blankly at the pavement outside the restaurant’s patio. Last night was too close. Too close to bringing up memories he didn’t want to remember.

The scars were too old, too scabbed that it hurt to reopen.

 

_“Shiro!”, he cried as his brother landed roughly on him at the side walk. He struggled under his weight, shaking his brother as he called his name over and over._

_“Shiro! Shiro! Shiro!”_

_There was no reply, only stunted breathing. He managed to break away from where they had fallen and he looked around the empty street, desperate for any sign of help. Tears were streaking down his face now, and he rubbed them away furiously._

_No, he had to do something to help Shiro._

_Shiro first._

_He can cry later._

 

“You okay?”

Keith blinked back across the table, where Shiro sat. Alive and healthy. The phantom version of him disappearing from the sidewalk. They were older now. They weren’t as helpless as before.

“Sure.” He replied when Shiro peered at him worriedly. He bit into his sandwich just to send an empathic _‘don’t push it.’_

“Okay… You look like you haven’t slept, though.”

Nosy brothers.

“I’m fine, Shiro.” He rolled his eyes and redirected the conversation. “How’s your patient?”

“He’s survived the worst, for now. I’ve pulled some strings to put him in a private room. All the nurses are under me, so you don’t have to worry about any foul play. We should contact his parent’s soon, though. They’d be looking for him, I’m sure.”

He picked at his fries and looked at Keith meaningfully, “Him and his brother.”

Keith nodded into his sandwich.

“Keith. I know you don’t want me to getting involved in your business—.”

“I don’t.”

“—But I worry—.”

“Too much, actually.”

“— Come on, you’re my little brother. You’re my only family alive. Of course I’d worry about you. I didn’t exactly wish for you to be where you are now. It scares me to think that one of these days, the next person I’d be trying to revive could be you.”

Keith slumped in his seat. He didn’t need this talk right now. “I won’t call you next time, then.”

Shiro flicked a fry at him and he returned an indignant scowl. “Don’t you dare learn _the opposite_ of what I’m trying to teach you.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I get it, Shiro. I’ll be careful.”

His brother looked at him suspiciously, before deciding he would save the rest of his lectures for later. There’s a lot of them, no doubt. “So, what are you planning to do now?”

“Keep tabs on the target, see what I can dig up.”

“I’m confused. Weren’t you the one who wanted the bounty? Why are you suddenly helping them now?”

Keith bit his lip, unsure if he should share the details to Shiro.

“Keith.” Shiro leaned forward, searching his face. “Are you in trouble?”

“I’m not.” He couldn’t look at him in the eyes. “But they are… and the bounty’s not mine. I didn’t take it.”

“Then—.”

“It’s Sendak’s.”

Shiro’s eyes widened. Surprise and shock in them, and something else. His brother was usually an open book but right now, his face was unreadable.

Keith knew that telling Shiro would make it harder for him to work on his lead, but it felt unfair to not let him know. Besides, it’s always easier to be honest with Shiro in the beginning, he’d just become more difficult if he dragged the truth for longer.

He frowned at Keith and leaned back on his chair, arms crossed in front of him sternly.

“No. I don’t want you getting involved in this.”

Keith huffed. “Shiro, this bounty could be our only lead to Zarkon. If he’s putting a big price on someone’s head—.”

“—Zarkon’s the one who ordered the hit?! Keith, I told you—.”

“It means this target is important. We might finally have something we could use against him!”

“And until then? You’re planning to play catch the mice with someone else’s life?”

“I’ve been playing with fire for years now Shiro. I intend to put it into good use.”

“Keith please. If Sendak is doing a job for Zarkon, it means he wants to get back in the Galra circle. You don’t want to be in the middle of that. He’d do anything to get his bounty.”

Keith gritted his teeth frustratingly. “Exactly! Now’s my only chance.”

“It’s not your only chance…” Shiro said softly, and Keith hated it.

Hated what he knew he was going to say.

“It’s been ten years…it’s been too long now, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He nodded at Shiro. He could feel his ears burning. “Yeah, too many years that Zarkon doesn’t deserve.”

Shiro shook his head to himself. Looking more upset than Keith had ever seen him.

“Frankly, I don’t get why you’re not as mad as me when it’s our parents that…” Keith heaved a shaky breath. “That Mom and Dad are…”

He pursed his lips angrily at the contrastingly peaceful street. It’s not fair that he was the only one looking for justice. When both of them had been wronged. When both of them were left to fend off for themselves as orphans.

“Mom and Dad would never have wanted for you to… they wouldn’t want for you to get their names bloody.”

He snapped back angrily at his brother’s calm demeanour. “Funny. Is that what you say to Allura too?”

Shiro was silent for a long while, then he looked down at the table. He spoke hoarsely, “You’re not the only victim here, remember? I’ve lost more than what I thought I had. Who better than me to tell you?”

Hot red anger simmered down into bitter guilt, the burning in his throat left him feeling ashamed of himself. Shiro was right, he knew exactly what it felt like to be a victim of Zarkon’s cruelty. New better than anyone.

Keith studied their unfinished meals and mumbled, “I’m sorry. I ruined breakfast.”

“That’s oka— Keith, don’t go.”

But he was already up, swiping at the pre-ordered take out bag from the empty seat between them. He made his way out of the restaurant in a hurry, feeling suffocated.

When he looked back, Shiro was bent down on the table, his head buried in his hands.

Keith felt bad, but he didn’t go back.

 

 

He knew something was wrong the moment he fit his key into the slot.

Unlike the other residents in the building, he’d insisted to install the traditional locks instead of key cards. Electronic locks were easy to fool, but he knew instantly that the knob on his front door had been tampered when the key fit awkwardly.

His right hand crept to the knife on his waist.

His unit would be too small for a fight, and anybody inside would be readily waiting for him. He cursed, wishing he’d brought a gun with him.

Shiro was right, he couldn’t get careless. There was no room for error.

It could probably be Sendak waiting beyond the door.

He tightened his grip on his knife then turned the knob.

The knife came flying at him the first two steps into his unit, but it was too slow, the trajectory too weak. It was enough for him to grab the hand on the handle and with an easy heave, a flash of blue eyes, he flipped the person unto the floor.

Seconds later, Keith was crouching down on Lance, who looked amusingly like a fish flopping freshly out of the water. There wasn’t even a hitch on his own breath, as he twisted the arm and pressed it into the carpet.

Lance blinked at him for a few moments, and then his blue eyes went sharp and that was the only warning before he grabbed at the knife he dropped with his other hand, but Keith had already kicked the knife away before his fingers could even touch the blade. Lance struggled pathetically before he admitted defeat and stopped wriggling out of Keith’s hold.

His glare was the only thing that didn’t concede. Some part of Keith commended him for that. He had guts, that's good. He’s going to need it.

He loosened his hold a little bit. “What did you think you were going to do with that knife?”

The boy’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“You weren’t even holding it properly.”

He let go of the thin wrist, smirking. He’d gotten himself worked out for nothing.

The knife wasn’t even sharp. He hadn’t cooked for years, definitely had no use for them now that they’d all dulled. Lance was rubbing at his wrist, red ears poking out from his brown curls.

Ah.

That’s interesting, it hadn’t been curly last night.

Crouching down to level at him on the floor, Keith took one of his hands, the one he’d twisted, and pushed the knife into it. He tugged at the lanky arm, forcing him up to a half-kneeling position, then pressed the blade on his own neck. The glare in Lance’s eyes transformed into surprise.

“One swipe at the throat. Easiest spot, no natural protection.”

Lance moved his hand away but Keith gripped it tighter, moving the knife to his lower abdomen.

“Or here. Lots of important stuff down there.” He watched Lance’s eyes follow as he moved the knife lower, just above his groin, curling the fingers in his hand tightly over the rubber handle. “Lots.”

He leaned his face closer to him. “And never, _ever_ , make the kill directly from the front.”

“I— I wasn’t—…” He was probably teasing too much, but it was fun to watch the heat in Lance’s face. Red was a good color in his tan face. “I wasn’t going to—.”

“What?” He let go of his hand and Lance stumbled back away from Keith. Away from the knife. “You weren’t going to kill me?”

“Just maim…” he mumbled dazedly.

Keith chuckled, walking over to his kitchen drawer and threw in the knife with the others. When he turned back, Lance was standing up with a wince. He was huddled over to the wall, putting as much distance between them as possible.

“You locked me in,” he said accusingly.

Keith cocked his head. “Yes. I said I wanted to talk with you. You can’t just _go_.”

“ _So you locked me in_. My brother got shot, and somebody’s after me, and I’m trapped inside a stranger’s house. You expect me to just… trust you and spill?”

Keith’s brow shot up, “So you do know something.”

“ _I don’t_.” He wheezed exasperatedly.

He can’t know for sure. Maybe he didn’t know what he knew. “Would you remember if you ate?” But then he turned to the table and there was the half-eaten soup he’d left earlier, already cold and inedible.

His hand went to his waist, feeling weirdly offended. “D’you think I’d poison you?”

“You did lock me in.”

“But poison your soup? Come on, I’m not a monster.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry…”

Keith didn’t have time for sentiments. “Save it.”

There’s no reason for him to be sorry… yet. And definitely not to Keith.

He dropped the take-out sandwich from breakfast and pulled out a seat. “Eat.”

“Please, you shouldn’t have bothered,” Lance grumbled snidely.

He sighed, then tried in a softer voice. “Come here and eat. And then we’ll talk.”

Lance stayed where he was.

Keith gritted his teeth. “Please.”

Slowly, he pushed himself away from the wall and walked over to the table. “See, was that so hard?”

Keith wanted to wipe the triumphant little tilt on his lips, wondering what the hell kind of satisfaction did he think he was going to get for being obstinate.

“Your brother’s fine, by the way.” Wide eyes were suddenly on him. Wide and hopeful. “We’re just waiting for him to wake up. We’ve put him in a private ward, and you don’t have to worry about expenses.”

Lance nodded silently.

Keith continued before he could utter any word of gratitude, it made him feel weird. He doesn’t want any unnecessary strings tangled up.

“I can call your parents…to let them know.”

Lance looked at him and said in hollowed voice. “… But I can’t?”

He sat down in front of Lance. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to directly get in contact with them, yet.”

“I can’t go to my brother, and I can’t talk to my family, and I’m not allowed out of this house. What am I supposed to do then?”

Keith looked away helplessly. It came to him suddenly how incredibly cruel it must be to keep Lance away from his family, specially after what had happened. He’d forgotten how powerful relationships could be.

“Eat.” He said. “For now.”

Lance kept his hands tucked into his lap.

“There’s nothing you can do for them. But just— live and eat and sleep. No matter how hard it gets, because it only gets harder. And wait. Till you find something you can do to help. You wait.”

Keith sat with him until Lance was finally able to take a bite out of the sandwich. Sat with him when he started shaking, tears falling onto the table, until he was sobbing into his food.

He forced his gaze away.

It’s painful to watch a replica of your past.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the first batch that i’ve written so far, and i still have no idea where i’m going from here, but i guess we’ll see

**Author's Note:**

> always wanted to write a gangster/mob/syndicate/assassin/allkindsofdirty AU. i’ve never been so proud and ashamed of myself


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